


Adagio

by PhoenixxWispp



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Both Sides Are Reading This Wrong, Classical Music, Fluff, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Waltzing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 20:38:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10579062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixxWispp/pseuds/PhoenixxWispp
Summary: It's hard enough to love someone from a distance, but to have to play the role of his lover again and again without ever making it real is something that tears at the soul. And Orson Krennic has been torn.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Mentioned Pieces:  
> -Nocturne Op. 9 No. 2  
> -Moonlight Sonata  
> -Solfeggio in C Minor  
> -Black Keys Etude  
> -Wrong Note Etude  
> -Mariage D'amour

It rained too much.

Orson preferred to rush inside, into shelter, to shade his meticulously combed silvery golden hair. He didn't like the drip of water over his thick beard. He liked to stay dry; liked keeping his lavish white suit clean and torrid.

But, here he was, tilting his face upwards to catch the droplets of water, waiting patiently as his suit turned the same shade of silvery gray as his hair. He opened his mouth and allowed the salty droplets entry. Before he could stop it, a groan slipped free.

There were so many times where Galen told Orson he loved him. After all, they were actors. The words, however strong, never had the hint of sincerity Orson was always hopeful for. Even in the most serious of scenes, Galen always held a hint of playfulness; the man was never serious although he had two Ph. D. degrees. He was a genius in engineering and astrophysics. Sometimes, Orson wondered why he acted with him when he could have pursued all other academic careers.

But perhaps, he was serious as he spoke the words, face lightening, eyes widening with a faint sparkle as the lights painted years from his face and his smile erased even more years.

"I love you," Galen would murmur, a childish excitement in his voice. Oh how Orson would like to return the words, but he never did. Those weren't his lines. So he'd scowl like he was told to, his next lines spoken too giddily.

"I love you," Galen would gasp, fake blood running down his perfect face as he bubbled in lieu of his fake death. Orson would cup his cheeks, too fervent for the scene as he would murmur fake reassurances for a fake injury, and when Galen's eyes drifted closed, Orson felt a very real pang of fear. He didn't know what he'd do if Galen ever did die. But then, the film director would yell _cut_ and Galen's eyes would snap open, and he'd always laugh, food coloring staining his perfect teeth. Orson wished, just once, Galen would stay the words with stunning truth and fantastic veracity. He never did.

Orson was alone in the alleyway when he first stood in its bowels, but now, he heard a faint footfall. Orson whirled around, slipping into a defensive position, but that proved to be futile. Orson relaxed.

"I wasn't going to kill you, you know," Galen laughed, the rain making his hair plaster together, the gray and brown strands tying into beautiful knots. "I thought you hated the rain."

 _Galen loves the rain_ , Orson thought. _Is that why I'm out here?_

And yet, though he positively detested the rain, Orson embraced it this time. His eyes drifted half closed as the droplets came crashing down on him. It was serene, almost too serene as he gazed upon Galen’s face. Those deep brown eyes were wide, and Orson never knew why.

“Let’s go inside,” Orson finally murmured, the rain getting to be too much. It was everywhere, on his suit, lacing his skin, sinking into his bones. And yet, the rain was warm. Not cold like the storm he had come to fear, but it was warm, making Orson regret his words. Galen did not disappoint.

“Let’s...stay out here a little longer,” he said. Orson smiled gratefully. It was night and the moon was very visible and very full, and with a lack of something to look at, Orson looked at the moon. He then looked back at Galen who was also staring at the moon as well.

“Really makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” Galen asked without looking back at Orson. Orson turned to train his gaze back on the moon, squinting under the barrage of _rain_. Rain, rain rain, too much yet too little.

“About what?”

“Well, there’s so much to think about when you look at the moon,” Galen responded, bringing a hand to his chin and rubbing the stubble of a beard he retained. “Night, wolves, Neil Armstrong…stars...and…”

Galen turned to Orson, finally, and the gaze was almost too much.

“And what, Galen.”

“The future.”

Orson tried to hide the full-body flinch that crashed through him, and it wasn’t hard; he was already shivering under the sudden weight of his suit and button-up shirt as it stuck to him, clinging to his skin.

“Future?” Orson asked, closing his eyes and feeling a soft droplet fall on his eyelids.

“Yes, future.” It had suddenly gotten a lot colder, and a passing breeze blew past the pair, yet only Orson shivered and shook. “The moon comes _after_ the sun, right? It rolls by and shines on us with light from its predecessor. It’s like the future, reflecting the past yet too obscure to truly observe.”

Silence.

No one spoke as to not risk shattering this precious, fragile moment. But not only that, no one knew what to say.

“Let’s go inside,” Orson finally repeated. He sounded firm this time, truly believing in his words for the first time since they met each other.

They finally did, and as soon as their dripping forms entered Orson’s apartment near the alleyway, water began slouching off of them.

Orson never tried to get any girls, for multiple reasons. For one, the pull of Galen Erso was simply too great. Another, since he would be recognized as a moderately-esteemed actor, they wouldn’t understand why he’d choose to live in this hovel for an apartment. Small, uncomfortable, and yet...so very vintage and tasteful.

The inside of the apartment was taken straight out of a movie.

The dishes lay unwashed and dirty in a pile next to the sink, yet still oddly arranged. At the front of the room, there were a string of crystals laid out like a spread of pearls. Orson adored the crystals and liked to gaze at them and the way the light reflected off the precise facets. The curtains were a deep blue and were splattered with spare paint from walls Orson painted himself. It reminded him of a starry night, and Orson loved the stars so.

Galen loved it.

“Perhaps someday,” Galen whispered, his voice bright and unaltered by the cold. “You’ll be a director.” Orson turned to smile at him before grabbing a refrigerated pizza. Galen never questioned why a man of Orson’s talents, and frankly, money would choose this life over the lavish, gilded life of a star. Sometimes, Galen truly wondered, but he never once questioned Orson’s decisions. And likewise, Orson never questioned Galen’s decision to pursue the acting career alongside him when he had a field of engineering and astrophysics to go to.

Orson handed Galen a slice of frozen pizza and watched as Galen took a bite.

He paced over to the small stereo system and clicked play with the majesty of an emperor. Galen’s eyes followed the movements, and instead of hearing some modern day pop song, he heard Chopin’s Nocturne Op. 9 No. 2 start resounding around the walls of the small place. Galen froze mid-bite and set the pizza down.

“I didn’t take you for a Chopin man,” Galen murmured as he stood and approached Orson whose eyes were flushed a navy blue. “I took you more for a...say...Moonlight Sonata man?”

Orson gazed back at the man who was suddenly very close. “What’s the difference? They are both adagio.”

Galen smiled stared at the stereo system.

“My bad, then. Perhaps some...Solfeggio in C Minor?” he asked, hands going discreetly for Orson’s tie.

Orson looked flustered but he began to move to the music, Chopin’s notes flowing through his veins. Only then did he realize they were both still soaking wet and it was getting on the perfectly polished hardwood floor. Not that Orson minded. Galen’s eyes burned that part away from him.

“That’s...that’s baroque,” Orson gasped. Galen smirked and took his hands, bringing him into a slow dance. “I prefer romance or classical.”

“Do you now?”

They were dancing now, Galen’s soft head resting over Orson’s heart as if listening to the thump of Orson’s lifeforce. It was like a slow waltz around the cramped part of Orson’s living room and dining room. Orson breathed in the scent of rain and lemongrass from Galen’s hair.

“Yeah, I do,” Orson croaked finally. He realized his rug was getting wet as well, but all that be damned.

The nocturne was coming to an end, and all of a sudden, Orson pulled away.

_My God, what am I doing?_

“Orson?”

“I’m okay. I just need some…”

“Time? For heaven’s sake, Orson. You’ve waited so long and now that I actually grant it to you, you’d rather wait?” Galen’s eyes were slightly annoyed, but more so, they were hurt. The brown inside burned like a strange sort of fire and longing. Orson just had to stoke it.

“What do you mean I waited so long?” Galen scoffed at that, the sound deep and almost mocking. He turned and walked forwards and kept walking until he had Orson pinned against a wall.

“I have a degree in civil engineering and astrophysics. Did you really think that it would pass by me the way you act around me? The way you shiver and shudder…” Galen inched closer and Orson’s breath hitched. “The way you beg for my sincerity?”

“I’ve never begged for your sincerity,” Orson whispered coldly. Inside, he felt his walls crumble and fall, but on the outside, he looked stolid and expressionless. The flash of confidence in Galen’s eyes vanished, replaced by hurt and embarrassment. He looked dejected at the very least.

“I-I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice silky smooth coarse at the same time. “I thought you would have noticed…”

“Well, I didn’t.”

Galen looked so many shades of shattered that Orson melted for a moment, but he knew he had to keep up the facade if he wanted Galen in the end. But Galen seemed to lighten up on his own, his gaze strong and unwavering once again.

“I’m surprised you didn’t ask why I appeared in the alleyway tonight.” That much was true. Orson was so caught up in the fact that _Galen was there_ to ask  _why he was there_. The piece finally ended and was quickly replaced by the Black Keys Etude, the music sinking straight into Orson’s heart, jump starting it.

“Why were you there?” Orson asked, urged by the lively music. He started sweating, being pinned so strongly by Galen’s gaze and yet he was so cold he could shiver.

“Tomorrow we have a scene, Orson.”

“Do we now?”

“Yes, and I wanted to practice it.”

“I wasn’t aware we had a scene.”

“You are now.” Galen reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded up packet of what looked like scans of the scenes. Orson carefully unfolded the wet paper and his mouth went dry as he read it over. “You got it?”

“I-I think so,” he murmured softly as the etude came to a halt. The Wrong Note Etude began its course and with the jarring music, Galen began reading. Orson listened to Galen and he spoke his own lines half-heartedly. It took him all the way to the end of the piece.

It had turned to Mariage D'amour by Paul de Senneville.

“It’s okay. If we burn in the fires of Hell, at least we’ll burn together.” Galen released the lines in sync with the piece. “After all, I love you.”

At that, Orson’s mad search was over.

The glint of sincerity was so obvious and profound it was almost as if Galen willed it to look as obvious as it did. Not that it was implausible. “Do you mean it?” For once Orson didn’t hate his lines. He said those four words with the honesty and veracity like never before. Galen chuckled and read his next lines.

“Of course I mean it.” There was a subtle sort of lust in Galen’s eyes as he said the words. He seemed enamored with the prospect of finally bringing the two together. Orson was just as deep in those waters as Galen was.

The music filled the empty ache of the room and the gentle patter of the rain was like a soothing wrap. The piece was lovely and Orson judged that, in that moment, and in every other moment of existence, so was Galen Erso.

The contemporary piece dulled to a soft lullaby, and with that, Orson broke away from the scene. “Say it again.”

Galen looked surprised but he didn’t disappoint.

“I love you, _Orson,_ ” he whispered, putting emphasis on the name. Orson’s eyes widened and he pulled Galen into a hug he needed half his life. The Fur Elise that came next coaxed a broken sob from the usually composed actor.

But Orson didn’t like having holes in his composure. He broke away from the gentle embrace and went to turn the stereo system off, leaving just silence and the rain.

“W-will you stay the night?” Orson asked, his voice suddenly very soft, even softer than when he was tasked with talking over the romance pieces.

“Of course.”

Orson’s sigh of relief was like music on its own, perfectly tuned like everything else that came out of the actor’s mouth. Galen walked over and cupped Orson’s cheek in his hand. Orson nuzzled against the hand like a cat and purred in delight.

“Of course, Orson.”


End file.
